CHAPTER XVIII
The Senator and the Securities
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On the hurricane-deck of the Campania, as the leviathan liner thrust her huge bulk towards the landing-stage through the lesser fry of the teeming Mersey traffic, a big man, wearing a light-gray frock-coat and a broad-brimmed soft white hat, stood talking to the purser. Senator Leonidas Sherman was accounted the handsomest man at Washington, and in his broad, well-chiseled, clean-shaven face was reflected that honesty and shrewd alertness which had caused his selection for his present trust.
“I don’t want the box out before the last moment, Mr. Seaton, and if you can conveniently keep the bullion-room locked till you hand it over I should be obliged,” the Senator was saying.
The brass-buttoned official gave a ready assent to the distinguished passenger’s request.
“I’d rather you had your job than me, sir,” he added, seriously. The equivalent of three million sterling in a little leather thing like
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